


Centerpoint

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [29]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 16:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11832669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “I’m not trying to be mean,” Victor says. It’s just effortless, apparently. “But when you dump someone they stop being your business. That’s pretty basic stuff.”“He’s still my friend,” Roman says.“He’s still your teammate,” Victor says. “It’s kind of up to him, not you, if he’s still your friend.”“Laying on the harsh truths today, huh, Kjeldsen?” Roman asks weakly.





	Centerpoint

Roman thinks he should feel relieved. Extricating himself from a situation that pressed on him like physical weight: that should be a relief. Maybe it will be, eventually, but right now? It fucking sucks.

It’d be bad enough if Roman didn’t have to see Connie constantly. He’s sure he’d still have it on a loop, the moment he’d realized that the more he said to justify it, the more hurt Connie looked. When he asked if Connie would like him to leave. When Connie said yes. That’s not the kind of thing he’s liable to be able to shake off, not the words themselves or the way Connie looked, big, stricken eyes, shrinking smaller and smaller the more Roman spoke. It felt cruel, even though Roman was trying his hardest not to be. Connie’s such an open book. It’s easy to tell when you’ve hurt him. Roman hates that.

If Roman was able to properly retreat, sort it out in his head, get his defenses up, maybe he’d feel differently about it, but the way things are now, Roman sees Connie the very next day. Operative word ‘sees’, because neither of them say anything, but even that’s enough to burn through Roman, make him want to retreat in a corner and lick his wounds and stay there until he’s sure he can handle it, because fuck, he can’t handle it right now.

He doesn’t really have a choice. There was no good time to bring it up, not any time soon at least, unless Roman wanted to drag it out just to find a spot in the schedule where he’d have multiple days to recover, but fuck. Connie’s avoiding him in team context, not making eye contact once, and it’s not that Roman didn’t expect that, and definitely not like he doesn’t understand why, but it still hurts, doesn’t stop as the days pass and they’re looking right into the eye of yet another road trip. Roman really isn’t looking forward to it. It’s only three games before they’re back home, but that’s a stretch of close to a week where the team usually shares at least two meals a day, if not all three. Add the likelihood of post-win drinks and the general close quarters, and it sounds like a fucking nightmare, especially when all Roman wants to do is stay home and cuddle his puppy and feel sorry for himself for awhile. No such luck, obviously. 

“Wish me luck,” Roman says to Zuza when he’s getting his last cuddles in, and she squirms out of his arms and away from him, which feels like a bad omen, as bad as Victor staring him down unflinchingly when Roman passes him and Connie on the plane, though that’s less a bad omen and more just flat out bad.

Liam sits beside him, clearly ignoring the unspoken ‘leave me alone’ Roman thought he was projecting pretty well. Fitzy gives him a long look before saying, with seriousness the word — contraction? term? — doesn’t deserve. “‘sup?”

Roman didn’t tell Liam he ended things with Connie, but he’s obviously figured it out. It probably wasn’t hard, between Connie not making eye contact and Victor serving Roman a stare that doubles as a barricade whenever he’s less than ten feet away from Connie. Honestly, he’s a little surprised more of the team hasn’t picked up on it. He knew they were pretty oblivious, but _damn_.

“It’s never been more obvious your boyfriend is old as balls than it is right now,” Roman says.

Fitzy snorts. “Like he’d say ‘sup,” Fitzy says, which isn’t really something Roman can imagine, no. “You want to talk about it?”

“No,” Roman says. 

Fitzy opens his mouth.

“And not the kind of ‘no’ where if you ask a couple more times I’ll answer,” Roman says. “I really, really don’t want to talk about it, Liam.”

Fitzy’s mouth shuts. “Okay,” he says, after a moment, then pats Roman’s arm. “Feel better, big guy.”

“Sure,” Roman says.

At dinner, Roman is about as far as physically possible from Connie, and he’d wonder if that was on purpose, but he probably knows the answer to that. It’s for the best — cuts down on the awkwardness, doesn’t bring it to the team, at least more than it already has, because Victor obviously knows, and Val probably, and Liam’s figured it out. Roman doesn’t want to know what Harry knows, what Connie has or hasn’t told him. Fuck, he must be jumping for fucking joy right now. 

Roman keeps finding his eyes drifting over to Connie more than a few times, something twisting in him when he sees Harry lean into his space. It’s nothing compromising, nothing anyone would bat an eye at, that the rest of the guys don’t do, but there’s something intimate about it. Roman knew, objectively, that just because he wasn’t involved with Connie anymore didn’t mean it wouldn’t bother him, seeing him and Harry, but he’d hoped. Stupid, in hindsight. 

Fitzy elbows him. 

“What?” Roman asks.

“Pay attention to me when I talk,” Fitzy whines.

“But you never stop talking,” Roman says, though he does try his best to, after that, keeps his focus on Fitzy, and Michaels and Samberg, who’re arguing about whether there have been any Marvel movies worth watching in the last few years, and his food, which is okay, but not great. Fitzy elbows him again when Roman glances over in Connie’s direction, and his pointy little elbow hurts, but Roman appreciates it.

Just as Roman’s getting up, Victor appears at his elbow, scaring the shit out of him. “Where did you come from?” Roman asks. He needs to stop being freaked out by Victor spidering around; he knew this about him. He _named_ him for it.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” Victor asks.

“Sure,” Roman says, though he’s not particularly looking forward to it. Still, looking forward to it or not, Spider’s got the right to say what he needs to say.

“Not here,” Victor says, waiting impatiently while Roman gets Fitzy to agree to pay his bill if he doesn’t come back in time, then spirits him off to an alcove off the lobby Roman hadn’t even noticed was there, the two of them disappearing into the shadows. Roman feels like he’s in a spy movie or something.

“What’s up, Vic?” Roman asks.

“Mike Brouwer,” Victor says, accusatory, which was not what Roman expected. 

Roman freezes. “Who?” he asks, trying for casual. Victor doesn’t look fooled.

“Born 150 miles from here,” Victor says. “Thirty-eight years old. Played with Liam on the Oilers.”

“I…do you want me to confirm that?” Roman asks. “Because I don’t know how old the dude is or where he’s from.”

“He’s Fitzy’s boyfriend,” Victor says. “Isn’t he? He’s the dude we saw.”

“Not necc—” Roman starts.

“I did an image search, I _know_ it was the guy we saw,” Victor says before Roman can finish lying to him.

“Not sure how seeing him at Fitzy’s house makes him Fitzy’s boyfriend,” Roman says. “You never hang out with old teammates?”

“At their place when they’re not home?” Victor says. “No.”

“Well,” Roman says. “You don’t, but maybe—”

“Why are you lying about this?” Victor says. “You know I’ve figured it out, why are you lying to my face?”

“Because he’s not out,” Roman says. “Okay? Fitzy doesn’t talk about him because Mike doesn’t want him to. Mystery solved, let it go.”

Victor frowns.

“What?” Roman asks.

“That’s a boring mystery,” Victor mutters. “You gave us a stupid mystery.”

“I didn’t actually know who Liam’s boyfriend was at the time, Vic,” Roman says. “I promise I would never intentionally give you a subpar mystery.”

Victor scoffs, then gives him a disturbingly intent look. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m…fine?” Roman says.

“About Evan, I mean,” Victor says.

“I’m fine,” Roman says. “Don’t turn me into another mystery, Spider.”

Victor snorts. “You, mysterious. Don’t flatter yourself. I was asking as a teammate, not as a detective.”

“You are not actually a detective,” Roman says. “Don’t make me take your badge away.”

“Like you could,” Victor says. “Sure you’re okay?”

Roman shrugs. “How’s Connie?”

“I mean, it’s not really your business anymore,” Victor says.

“Wow, okay,” Roman says.

“I’m not trying to be mean,” Victor says. It’s just effortless, apparently. “But when you dump someone they stop being your business. That’s pretty basic stuff.”

“He’s still my friend,” Roman says.

“He’s still your teammate,” Victor says. “It’s kind of up to him, not you, if he’s still your friend.”

“Laying on the harsh truths today, huh, Kjeldsen?” Roman asks weakly.

Victor shrugs. “You hurt him,” he says, very matter-of-factly, which is the worst so far. “You spin it whatever way you like in your head, but you hurt him, and you’re not the one dealing with the fallout. That’s me and Val and Harry. So. Whatever. You want to know how he is, you ask him, because I’m not telling you.”

Roman rubs his face. “Okay,” he says, not bothering to argue that if he tried to go over and ask Connie how he was doing, Victor would probably just give him that stare again. They both need some time, he thinks, as hard as that is to get during a roadie. Roman doesn’t want to make it more difficult. “Don’t tell anyone about Mike. He doesn’t want people to know.”

“I’m not an asshole,” Victor says, in a tone that implies that he thinks Roman is one.

“I know,” Roman says. “Just that it might not occur—”

“I get it, okay?” Victor says. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Okay,” Roman says.

“Okay,” Victor repeats, then gives him another piercing look.

“Anything else?” Roman asks.

“Nah,” Victor says, and slips back toward the restaurant. Roman thinks about going back in there, getting Fitzy’s questioning, nosy look, seeing Victor installed back with Connie, who still won’t look his way, and decides to just go back to his room and call this day a wash.

Fitzy texts him after he’s changed into sweats and a t-shirt, turned on the TV, confirming his bill’s paid. _Thanks._ Roman texts back. _Spider figured out about Mike. Says he won’t tell anyone._

_that wily little shit_ , Fitzy texts back, and he sounds almost admiring. Probably not surprising, considering he’s a little shit himself. Not so much with the wily, though. _ill talk to him_.

Roman feels sorry for Victor. Almost sorry enough to text him a heads up, but not quite. He starts flipping through channels instead, the clock on his bedside table staring accusatorily at him, reminding him it’s way too early for bed, even if he’s feeling pent up, trapped, trying to avoid the lure of curling up and feeling sorry for himself again, because he doesn’t have Zuza to keep him company through it this time.

Roman’s flipping through channels for probably the fifth time, getting impatient after minutes of every rerun he lands on, when there’s a knock on the door. _Connie_ , Roman thinks, but of course it isn’t. It also isn’t Fitzy, or Val, or Victor, coming back to tear him down a little more, or literally any other member of the roster he would have guessed ahead of _Harry_.

“Um,” Roman says. “What’s up?”

“Can I come in?” Harry asks, then doesn’t wait for an answer, knocking Roman’s shoulder as he barges past him.

“Yeah, sure, come right in,” Roman mutters, and shuts the door behind him. Harry’s already at the foot of Roman’s bed, doing a little two-step pace, like he’s agitated. Roman doesn’t know what Connie told him. Roman probably doesn’t want to know, but he’s got a pissed Chalmers in his room and no way of getting rid of him without force, so. “What’s up, Harry?” Roman asks, 

“What the fuck?” Harry asks.

“Um,” Roman says. He’s pretty sure if Harry just knew about the conversation Roman and Connie had he’d be jumping with joy and rubbing it in Roman’s face, so there has to be something else. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Like you don’t know what this is about,” Harry says.

“Pretend I’m stupid,” Roman says, and Harry snorts, mouth curling, like that’s not much of a stretch. Roman’s more than used to people underestimating his intelligence, but it never gets less annoying.

“You dumped Evan,” Harry says.

“I wouldn’t use the word dumped,” Roman says.

“Whatever word you want to use, it’s what you did,” Harry says.

“What’s this about, Harry?” Roman asks.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Harry says.

“Excuse me?” Roman asks.

“Like what the fuck?” Harry says. “You’re suddenly too fucking good for him or something?”

“I don’t know where you’re getting that,” Roman says. “If Connie said—”

“Evan didn’t say anything about it,” Harry says. “But he’s upset, and that’s on _you_ , so stop all this ‘what’s this about?’ shit.”

“I would have thought you’d be happy about this,” Roman says.

“Happy to see Evan upset?” Harry asks. “Is that the kind of fucking asshole you think I am?”

Roman might have been — not happy, if Harry had ended things with Evan, if it’d hurt Evan. Not happy, but. Relieved, probably. Apparently he’s more of an asshole than Harry Chalmers, and that’s not something he’s comfortable thinking. He’ll just add it to the pile of uncomfortable thoughts he’s had in the past few weeks, the ones that got stacked high enough that it became imperative he either broke out of the situation, or they’d topple down and crush him.

“I don’t think you’re an asshole,” Roman says.

“Well _you’re_ one,” Harry says.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that today,” Roman says. Victor didn’t outright say it, but Roman thinks implication counts.

“Good,” Harry snaps. “Look, if he chooses you—”

“He wasn’t going to,” Roman says.

“Not now that you’ve taken yourself out of the fucking running,” Harry says. “I want him to _choose_ me, okay? I don’t want to be his consolation prize because the dude he’s been totally infatuated with for ages decided he wasn’t worth the effort. Like, I’m pretty sure he won’t if you’re still an option, but—”

“What makes you so sure of that?” Roman asks. “And who the hell said I think he isn’t worth the effort?”

“Can’t imagine how I’d think that,” Harry says. “Not like you dumped him out of nowhere just because, what, wasn’t experienced enough for you?”

Roman winces, because that hits too close to home. Not what Harry’s implying, but —

“Doesn’t stack up compared to someone who’s fucked around as much as you have?” Harry snaps, looking so sure he’s found a sore spot, though he’s jabbing about two feet to the left. Still leaves a twinge, just because it’s something he can’t actually answer. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Roman says.

“You wouldn’t— what?” Harry asks, stopping all at once.

Roman shrugs.

“ _What_?” Harry repeats, looking completely flabbergasted.

“I’m not sure why you’re so surprised,” Roman says. It’s kind of flattering, in a weird way.

“I mean, I’m me,” Harry says. “And you’re you, so, like, I don’t know why you’re surprised I’m surprised.”

“I’m…me?” Roman asks.

“You know what you look like,” Harry mutters. “And I’ve seen you pick up. Plus, I mean, fuck, he’s liked you for fucking ever,” Harry adds. “And you don’t get to act all false modest about that too, you knew that from the start.”

“I…wasn’t aware I was acting modest,” Roman says.

“Whatever,” Harry says. “You’ve been like, the wet dream or something. I don’t even know what I am to him. Not you.”

“Except Connie’s about a thousand times more comfortable with you than he is with me,” Roman says. “So I don’t know—”

Harry throws his hands up. “Because Evan wants to impress you!” he says. “He’s been like that since the start, how do you not get that by now?”

“I’m already impressed!” Roman says.

“I mean, obviously!” Harry says.

“Why are we yelling?” Roman asks.

“I don’t know it’s kind of my default!” Harry says, starting to laugh a second after Roman does. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m yelling at you for dumping my boyfriend.”

“It’s…kind of surreal,” Roman agrees.

“Can I sit?” Harry asks, then takes a seat on the edge of the bed before Roman can say okay, because of course he does. He runs a hand through his hair, which sticks up in its wake. Roman’s fingers twitch with the urge to smooth it down. He’s pretty sure if he tried, Harry would bite him.

“So like,” Harry says. “Apparently Evan’s impressive and worth the effort, but you’re still dumping him.”

“It wasn’t a relationship,” Roman says. “Not really. Not to him.” 

“Oh, bullshit,” Harry says. “Like he wasn’t doodling ‘Evan Novák’ on his Rookie Detective notes last year. No fucking way it wasn’t a relationship to him, you’re so full of shit.”

“He acts differently with you,” Roman says. 

“More comfortable, you said,” Harry says. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

This is going about as well as when Roman tried to explain to Connie why he couldn’t keep on doing this, though Connie was less swearing and arguing and more standing stock still and getting smaller and smaller like he was trying to fend off a blow. Roman prefers this. “I don’t like the way I feel when he’s with you,” Roman says, finally, because it comes down to that. “I don’t like the person I am when he’s with you.”

“Yeah, while I’m sure you’ve never been worried about potentially being second best in your —” Harry starts, and Roman laughs. “What?” Harry asks, scowling.

“Seriously?” Roman asks. “Dude, I didn’t even break into the NHL until I was 21. Neither of us is Connie, here.”

“I’m not talking about hockey,” Harry says. “I’m talking about, like —”

“Like what?” Roman asks, when Harry doesn’t continue, and Harry shrugs jerkily. He looks small, a little lost. Oddly, it’s the closest he’s ever looked to Connie, and Roman’s stomach clenches in the same way, looking at him.

_Oh, fuck no_ , Roman thinks, because that’s. Fuck no.

He looks away, focuses hard on a spot on the carpet, feels Harry’s characteristically sullen presence like, well. A presence. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

“So are you going to like, beg Evan back or not?” Harry asks finally, and when Roman looks over at him all that soft uncertainty’s been replaced by a frown. That should knock Roman right out of whatever temporary insanity he’s experienced, but it doesn’t. His mouth seems redder than before, and Roman doesn’t know if he’s been biting his lip or if it’s something he’s just noticing now.

“Harry,” Roman says.

“He’s too good for you,” Harry says. “But like, he’s too good for me too, and he deserves to pick which person he wants to settle for.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Roman says. “I don’t want to start resenting him.”

“So don’t,” Harry says. 

“The reason I ended things was so I wouldn’t,” Roman says. 

“So you’re just going to hurt him to make yourself feel better,” Harry says.

“I’m getting out a situation that’s fucking my head up and isn’t working,” Roman says. “If you want to put it that way, that’s your right.” 

“Oh fuck off,” Harry snaps, standing. His cheeks are a little pink, hands loosely fisted at his sides where his dress shirt’s come untucked, showing a sliver of undershirt, barely paler than his skin is under freckles that must number in the thousands, every place the sun’s ever touched his body. Roman shouldn’t be noticing this. Roman really wishes he wasn’t. “You’re completely infuriating.”

“You too,” Roman says belatedly, but he’s not sure Harry hears him, because he’s already stomping out the door.

“Fuck,” Roman says, flopping back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. His face feels hot, like if he looked in the mirror he’d be as red as Harry was, though for different reasons. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks plaintively. “It wasn’t complicated enough already?”

The TV’s still on, and Roman listens to a commercial for detergent, can’t remember what channel he’d left it when Harry knocked on the door. _Nothing’s changed_ , Roman said, but he’s pretty sure that isn’t even close to true.


End file.
